


An Unspeakable Love

by Marshmellow Bobcat (MellowBobcat)



Series: Logan Lives [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Hermione POV, Logan Lives, season 4 fix-it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21719287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowBobcat/pseuds/Marshmellow%20Bobcat
Summary: Someone gave the prompt: What if Hermione saved Logan with her Time Turner. This is what happened.The magical Harry Potter/ VM Season 4 Fix-it that nobody asked for.Helps to be familiar with (but not an expert in) Harry Potter. HP does not comply with the Epilogue.Must be familiar (but not happy) with Veronica Mars S4.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Series: Logan Lives [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563652
Comments: 109
Kudos: 53





	1. This Will Not Stand

**Author's Note:**

> The magical Harry Potter/ VM Season 4 Fix-it that nobody asked for. Except for CubbieGirl1723, because she gave me the prompt. :)
> 
> Prompt: "What if Hermione saves Logan with her Time Turner?"

The brightest witch of her age, Hermione Granger is officially an Unspeakable, the youngest in a century. 

Her work restoring the Time Turners that were destroyed in the war had brought her to the attention of the Department of Mysteries. The fact that she had succeeded, with no Ministry resources, guaranteed her role as an Unspeakable in the Department. 

When first presented with the position, she was eager, intrigued. Having been to the Department of Mysteries to rescue Sirius, she probably knows more about it than most. She knows that there is a Thought Chamber where they study the nature of thought. And a Time Chamber, where her Time Turners now reside. A Love Chamber whose door, according to Dumbledore, always remains locked. A Death Chamber with a Veil that changed everything. 

But what she doesn’t know is what an Unspeakable does, and with the job offer her need to know it all rose to the surface. To finally know more about the Department of Mysteries where she and five other teens battled for their lives. To understand the Death Chamber where Sirius lost his. To learn even more about time than her independent research taught her. 

She’d eagerly accepted the position. And was promptly told that while she’d touch on some of the other areas of study in the Department, she’d be focused on the study of Love. 

Hermione had nodded at her superiors while pushing down her disappointment. While she’s seen first hand what the power of a Mother’s Love did for Harry, the general idea of Love sounded like rubbish. A childhood fairytale where ‘True Loves’ Kiss’ saves the day and pink hearts float through the air. 

But she’s been with the Department for some time now, and for once, she readily admits she was wrong. Love is quite possibly the most mysterious branch of magic and is extremely difficult to comprehend.

And so today, like every other day, she dutifully runs through her tasks for the day, starting with the large fountain in the center of the room. Perching on the edge, she tests the strength of the love potion flowing down its marble passages. 

In years past, an Unspeakable would ingest the love potion while a colleague observed the effects and jotted the results. What they found is that you cannot duplicate Love, only infatuation. So they no longer use the love potion for experimentation, rendering it a thankless and pointless job. But today it’s on the list the Department gave her, and so she completes the task with minimal grumbling.

Moving away from the fountain, Hermione stands in the soft glow of the Wall of Love and inadvertently sighs. She looks quickly around, but she is alone in the chamber. Her eyes drift back to the shelves lining the wall. This is where the true study of Love begins and the uninspired name does not do justice to the amazing feat before her. 

She has seen a lot of amazing things since joining the Wizarding World. Dark Lords and chocolate frogs. She herself studied the old Magics, devoured every fascinating resource in her efforts to recreate the Time Turners. But this…

On the wall sits row upon row of small glass orbs, each about the size of a Snitch. Within each sphere are two distinct lights—the essences of the couples who are critical to their study. Couples whose love is so strong that syphoning a bit off won't affect them. Couples who have the power to shape time, space, and history with the force of their emotions. 

Their essences flow around each other, an ebb and flow of light, shining against the black marble of the room. And yes, they’re beautiful. But powerful things are dangerous. Motives are not always pure, and endings are not always happy. After all, Severus Snape had loved Lily Evans once. 

And so, when she works with the orbs, Hermione treats them with the reverence and caution they merit. 

First, she _always_ familiarizes herself with the file. It would not do to forget important details that could affect the entire study. She then selects an orb and pours the essences into a device similar to a Pensive. Unlike a traditional Pensive, which plays a copy of a memory for the user, this device acts like a Portkey. One dip of the finger pulls the Unspeakable to the couple’s location. 

From there it’s a simple matter of Disillusionment or polyjuice and falling back on one’s training. Unspeakables in their department are able to perform Legilimency, see relationship bonds, as well as accurately discern strong, unspoken emotions. 

It is not an exact practice; if the Unspeakable arrives at the couple's side and has missed an important event—a wedding, a baby, a first kiss—then they must use a Time Turner to backtrack and observe. It’s Hermione’s favorite part of the job. But she is not willing to rush the necessary procedures beforehand, so she tears her eyes away from the wall and begins the laborious process of matching each orb to the nameplate underneath it. 

This shouldn’t be necessary, but some of her more thoughtless counterparts are careless with the couples. And Unspeakable Thomas was here last. 

One would think that with those garish black, square-framed glasses Unspeakable Thomas would be able to see well enough to place the orbs in the correct location. But one would be wrong. So Hermione has to check. 

She frowns as she arrives at Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars. Their orb is missing. With a shrug, she begins to search the Chamber.

It’s not always Unspeakable Thomas’ fault. Some of the orbs do like to cause trouble. Similar to how magical portraits work, the essences behave and interact like their subjects do. Even the retired orbs, couples who have since passed in the mortal world, get frisky sometimes. 

Hermione, more frequently than she’d like to admit, finds herself tasked with barring Marie and Pierre Curie from sneaking into the Healing Chamber. 

James Potter is fond of hiding and rolling out during quiet moments to startle the Unspeakables. Hermione can practically hear his chuckles, and his wife Lily’s eye roll, in the pulsing light. 

The ones still living, like Logan and Veronica, are far worse. They are more willful than the others. Veronica, for example, has a pesky habit of exploring. And Logan indulges her whims, content to roll along, forcing Hermione to keep a closer eye on them. 

Not that she minds too much. Often, Veronica guides Hermione to little oddities that she is too busy to discover on her own. Once Veronica even led her to an Unspeakable attempting to bottle the fountain’s love potion for his personal use. 

Veronica’s usual blue glow burned so bright red that day that it lit the chamber, alerting Hermione. Only Logan’s cooling pink shimmer could calm her. 

No, losing that particular orb is only a problem if—

Hermione’s loud gasp echoes through the chamber. 

The door, the door that is to ‘ _remain locked at all times,’_ is open. 

And of course, Hermione spies Veronica rolling through, Logan’s light hovering fondly at the back of the sphere, along for the ride. 

_Bollocks._

Unfortunately for Hermione, orbs are resistant to magic. She gives chase, cursing the magical world. 

_Why does nothing stay where you bloody put it?_

Like the stairs at Hogwarts, the rooms in the Department _move_ , and there’s no telling what’s on the other side of this door. Hermione moves faster. 

Jogging through the door, she breathes a sigh of relief. They’re in the Death room. There is nothing in here but— she freezes in horror as momentum propels Veronica and Logan down the stairs into the deep stone pit that encompasses the majority of the room. 

Hermione clatters down the stairs at a dead run, but there is no stopping them. The orb rolls toward the stone arch, the ethereal glow highlighting the glass, and it wobbles frantically trying to veer away. But it’s too late.

As they roll through the Veil, a flare of pink light covers the blue.

Hermione rounds the arch to see the pink light extinguished and the blue light rapidly transforming to a muted gray. 

She collapses to her knees and cradles the glass in her hand, stroking the smooth, rounded surface. 

_This will not stand._

* * *

“Ugh!” Hermione slams into her flat, tossing her purse at the table in the entry. Crookshanks rushes out to greet her, but he heads for higher ground as she storms through the hall to flop down on the sofa. 

“Crooks!” 

The large ginger cat freezes and slinks back to her. 

“How could the Department deny my project?”

She pops back up and begins to pace. 

Crookshanks jumps to the sofa’s backrest, settling in to watch. 

Hermione pauses at Crookshanks’ sigh and pins him with a narrow-eyed stare. 

“Oh you would be upset too if they _binned_ your proposal right in front of you. As if I wouldn’t keep several copies.” She scoffs and resumes her pacing.

“Look!” She waves her hand and a copy of her proposal flies from her bag, through the hall, and into the room. Crookshanks simply licks a paw at her wandless, wordless display.

Grabbing the color-coded document midair, she flips through. 

After that foul, loathsome Unspeakable Thomas had flippantly admitted to opening the door to ‘air out the room,’ it had been all she could do not to Stupify him. Or slap him. And she’s not about to let the idiot ruin one of the greatest examples of Love in their collection. So she tirelessly worked on a presentation to defend her plan. 

“See?” She shoves her report under Crookshanks’ nose and he gives it an obliging bump. “All I have to do is use the Time Turners, but rather than simply observe, I figure out how he died and save him. He wasn’t supposed to die, so the consequences should be minimal.” 

Crooks meows at her and Hermione huffs. 

“No. I know what you’re thinking, but I’ll be fine. Eloise Mintumble was a moron. She got cocky, inserted herself into the work, and her hubris got her stuck in the fifteenth century. The timeline was irrecoverably damaged.” 

Not to mention the woman aged five centuries on the return trip. She lived out the remainder of her days in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Melodies.

But Hermione is right about this. She can feel it. And she's always chosen the right path, rather than the easy one. Always. 

At most she’d have to go back a week. 

Crooks bobs his head and she pulls her proposal back. 

She sits heavily on the sofa again and Crooks butts his head against her cheek. She reaches up to stroke his fur. 

_But they’d denied her._ ‘Plenty of other couples,’ they’d said. They hadn’t even read the file. 

_Epic. Spanning years, continents, lives ruined, blood shed._

Logan and Veronica had been practically created for the study of Love, Time, and Death. 

Hermione listens for the voice that tells her to follow the rules, respect her superiors. But that voice was suffocated during the war. Snuffed out by gross injustices and the causal disregard for childhood innocence in favor of the ‘greater good.’ Now, there’s not even a whisper. 

She has loads of time saved up. And she's not about to let a couple she's devoted so much of herself to _die_ because some idiot is rubbish at his job. 

It’s time to conduct some independent research.

* * *

Hermione flies commercial to Neptune, California. 

She could have performed a simple Inter-continental Apparition with ease, but the Ministry records anyone popping out of England. The mundane approach is much harder to track. And once she arrives in the States, Hermione will be able to move freely with no one the wiser.

Not that she’s doing anything _wrong,_ per se. They said they wouldn’t expend departmental resources on the endeavor. They did not expressly forbid her to carry out her plan. Hermoine learned the power and nuance of words at Dumbledore’s knee; she can defend her actions if pressed.

Once she lands, Hermione hides in a toilet stall at the airport and downs a bit of polyjuice, waiting as her body morphs under the loose clothing she wore specifically for this occasion. 

When she feels her features settle, she opens the stall door and catches her reflection in the mirror across from her. She’s two inches taller with thin, wavy blonde hair. 

If asked, she’ll say she’s an ex-girlfriend. The couple had had that ridiculous nine years of radio silence, so it is plausible. And she assumes Veronica will be too hysterical to pay her much mind, but just to be certain, Hermione takes her wand out of her pocket and slides it up into her sleeve.

Satisfied, she locks herself back in and Apparates to the funeral parlor where the paper said Logan’s wake would be held. 

The plan is simple: gather the facts, figure out how Logan died, then go back to the appropriate time and repair the damage. Confident, Hermione strides through the funeral parlor doors.

Her plan begins to unravel almost immediately. 

She’s dismayed to find Veronica sitting in front of the empty casket, dry-eyed and cold. Confused, Hermione stares, searching for some sign of strong emotion as she’s been taught. But she finds nothing. All she sees is a single tear running down Veronica's cheek. 

That worries Hermione more than the dry eyes. Veronica is no Lavender Brown, concerned with her makeup and setting a pretty picture. Veronica is blood, and guts, and fire.

Perhaps she’s numb. Perhaps the absolute wrongness of the death has irrevocably affected her aura. By the time Hermione departed for her trip, even that dull light was gone.

Hermione drifts away from the main room and wanders the funeral parlor, listening for clues. 

It seems Logan was the victim of a car bombing. That makes a sort of sense. Hermoine doesn’t have much to go by, but it stands to reason that any death caused by the Veil would be sudden and senseless. In her opinion, a bomb is a bit dramatic, but Death isn’t her area of expertise.

“He died on his wedding day, of all days.” The whisper draws her up short. 

His wedding day? How is that possible? They were married weeks ago. 

She follows the blonde who said it, Parker, if she remembers correctly. And the more Hermoine learns, the more confused and uneasy she becomes. 

Logan had doubts? They were only married a few days ago? 

Something is seriously wrong. 

Leaving the funeral home, Hermione retreats to a nearby park bench and digs in her tiny handbag, reaching in up to her shoulder. Finding the file she borrowed from the Department, she pours over its contents.

“Yes! There!” she crows. “They were married three weeks ago.” 

She looks up in triumph, then frowns. She should have brought Crooks with her. 

Pulling out her notebook, Hermione jots down Logan and Veronica’s wedding date and time and then performs the complicated math to suss out the correct number of dial turns. Pulling out her Time Turner, she dials and lets the world reverse around her. 

It stops on the date she noted as their wedding day, and Hermione walks the short distance to Keith’s house to observe the wedding once again. She remembers the small ceremony fondly. 

That day, her task was to keep a close eye on Keith, with the intention of charting the changes in his health alongside the Love Veronica and Logan generated in his presence. 

As predicted, while the couple said their vows—in between nervous quips and stupid grins—the healing energy of Love washed over Keith. His heart rate slowed, his nerves calmed, and the inflammation in his brain was greatly reduced. 

She’d estimated an additional year of life expectancy and wondered what grandchildren would do. 

But now, when she arrives at the small Craftsman, the backyard is empty. No wedding. 

Peeking through a window, Hermione sees Keith tucking into a microwaved meal in front of the telly. A quick diagnostic scan shows a reduction in his general health from the standard she previously noted in the file.

This makes no sense. 

Stepping back into the garden, Hermione Apparates to the small alley outside of Veronica and Logan’s apartment. 

No one is home so she waits. She snacks on a granola bar from her bag. And waits. She drinks enough polyjuice to make Barty Crouch Jr. proud. And waits. 

Determined, she waits. Just as night falls, she hears Veronica laughing in the distance. Hermione is still polyjuiced, but she Disillusions herself for good measure and then steps out into the street. 

And almost vomits. 

_Leo_?! Where is Logan? 

As the couple pass Hermione and flirt by the door, her anger spikes so violently that she inadvertently calls up a localized wind storm. She hasn’t displayed accidental magic since she was a child, and those instances never ended well. 

Luckily—for Veronica—Leo leaves, but still Hermione fumes. 

What in Merlin’s name is happening? Where did Leo come from? He’s supposed to be in San Diego on the verge of ending his second marriage. She’d checked. 

Hermione needs to regroup. 

Did Veronica have an engagement ring on her finger? What happened the night Logan proposed? She must get to the bottom of this.

Out comes the file. 

She finds the proposal date and time, does the math, holds her breath, and spins. 

When she emerges, it’s night again. Hermione once more reaches deep into her bag, this time pulling out the Extendable Ears. She levitates one end to the open window of Veronica and Logan’s apartment to listen. 

The two human-looking ears connected by a string look disgusting but are rather effective. And necessary.

She’d popped in on Logan and Veronica once—disillusioned, of course—and...her face turns Weasley red at the memory. Fair to say, that’s an experience she won’t repeat. She’s kept the Ears on her ever since. 

Flushed, Hermione focuses on the conversation above.

“ _How many pockets have you searched? The pocket on the right.”_

_“WTC, dude.”_

Hermione rolls her ‘cussing’ eyes. Stupid cussing bet. 

_“I think it goes something like this. Veronica—“_

_“Stop.”_

Hermione gasps. STOP? 

“ _Stop. Don’t. Don’t. Please. We’re not getting married.”_

Hermione stomps her foot and pulls the Ear down. She rips the Time Turner out of her blouse. She doesn’t need to check the file; she knows where she’s going. She’s visited this time and date on multiple occasions. 

For research purposes, of course. 

She spins the dial with a screech of frustration. 

“ _Did you hear something?”_ floats down from the open window as the world spins away. 

When it stops, she’s in the same spot but the sun is shining. This is the earliest point she can think of. The day Logan came home, appearing out of the water like Neptune himself. 

She crosses to the beach, remaining visible this time. She imagines leaving bodiless footprints in the sand would send the Muggles to church or therapy. 

Glancing around, Hermione pauses. She is still a tall willowy blonde, but she doesn’t exactly blend. She glamours her clothing to match the skimpy attire of those around her. 

The red crop top and denim shorts are adequate, but she doesn’t know what to do with the Time Turner. She can’t risk removing it. Finally, she loops it around her waist like a belly chain and tucks the hourglass into the back of her tiny shorts.

From memory, she picks a spot close enough to hear and watches the show along with a pretty African American girl. 

Veronica appears, dog in tow, and Hermione’s fingers unclench. This is how it should be. 

Satisfied, she turns back to Logan’s excellent entrance. “Oh, I do not mind if I do.” 

“Bitch, get in line,” her friendly companion replies. 

Hermione’s eyes widen. She had not meant to say that out loud. It’d just popped out of her mouth. Oh well, no harm. She blames the jet lag. 

Then her jaw drops open as Veronica sidles up to them and engages in complete bizarre banter. Hermione covers her shock and joins in the conversation, barely registering what Veronica’s saying as her mind races.

This isn’t right. 

According to the file—the file _she_ wrote based on her own observations—Logan emerged and Veronica launched herself at him, dropping Pony’s leash without a care. She wrapped herself around him, and Pony, not to be ignored, nudged them joyfully, knocking the couple over. 

All three rolled in the sand amongst laughing and kissing and slobber, then the couple struggled up and raced each other back to the house like randy teenagers with Pony galloping alongside. 

Instead, when Logan arrives they have an awkwardly suggestive, stilted conversation for the benefit of people who don’t matter. Hermione can’t comprehend it. What changed? 

She casts her gaze around, desperate to understand. Someone has been meddling. But why? How? 

And then she sees it out of the corner of her eye. A flash. A momentary glimmer that she just barely catches, so quick that she wouldn’t have seen it had she not been focusing so intently. 

The telltale flick of a wand. The glint of garish, black square-framed glasses. She turns her head sharply, but by then it’s gone. Disappeared as though it had never been there at all. 

Hermione’s eyes narrow. And suddenly at least the _how_ is clear.

_This will not stand._


	2. Inconceivable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously On An Unspeakable Love
> 
> In her quest to save Logan from a wrongful death, Unspeakable Hermione Granger travels back in time to change the events that lead to the car bomb. While there she discovers that Logan's death isn't the only thing wrong. Veronica and Logan's relationship seems to have disintegrated while she wasn't looking. Hermione's only clue to the mystery is a flash of black glasses. Fellow Unspeakable Thomas has been meddling, and it's up to Hermione to figure out why. And how.

Hermione doesn't bat an eyelash at the exorbitant cost of a suite at The Neptune Grand. She's made quite a few lucrative investments in the American markets, and she's more than comfortable. Plunking her AmEx Card down on the counter, she taps her nails impatiently as the receptionist sneers at her.

It isn't until the elevator doors close behind her that Hermione catches a glimpse of herself in its reflection and remembers she is still dressed like a tramp.

Hermione enters the suite and does a slow spin to take in her surroundings. This was the suite where so much had happened over the years. She'd observed it, of course, but to be here in person somehow makes it that much more real. What a thrill.

Then a realization strikes her and she pauses. The fact was that Dick Casablancas had also inhabited these hallowed halls. Hermione pulls out her wand and performs a complex cleaning charm. She learned it from Molly Weasley herself and, as usual, the results are perfectly adequate. It will have to do. But then her mind returns to Dick, and Hermione doesn't think there are enough years, or bleach, to get rid of the shame. She does the spell again for good measure and throws her bag into Logan's former room just to be safe.

Then, Hermione transfigures her clothes back into a simple t-shirt and sensible pair of jeans. Once that's taken care of, she pours herself a nice, stiff brandy from the hotel's stores.

Somehow, she has to figure out how to delve into Veronica and Logan's minds in order to decipher which memories Unspeakable Thomas altered.

Scowling into her glass, she concludes that it is most decidedly half empty. Filling it to the brim, she carefully walks to the couch, sipping along the way.

_Merlin, how could she be so stupid?_

She hadn't checked in on Logan and Veronica since their wedding day. She didn't think she had to, figuring they'd be naked for at least two weeks. Nothing to learn there. All right, perhaps a thing or two to learn, if the quick peek she got a few years ago was anything to go by. But nothing of value for The Department, so she had left the newlyweds alone.

And due to her misplaced faith that her colleague had a modicum of integrity and was doing the same, she'd failed them. Spectacularly. Only a massive amount of interference could cause a change as great as what she'd witnessed.

It's just...she hadn't considered that... _why would he ruin the work?_ It is nonsensical. For fun? For attention? If he had wanted a new position he could have put in for a transfer, petitioned for a change, presented new research. Though, she supposes the thought never occurred to him. Unspeakable Thomas is, after all, a male pure blood; he's never had to work even half as hard as she has to garner influence and respect. Even with her quite notable history with Harry and the fight against Voldemort. It is infuriating.

_Oh, look. Glass half empty again._ Getting up, Hermione refills. She can deal with the 'why' after she figures out how Unspeakable Thomas has altered the minds of _this_ particular couple. A feat she herself has found impossible. He can't possibly be more skilled than she. It's inconceivable.

There is no arrogance in saying that Hermione is especially gifted at mind magics. Her success in that area is well documented, even studied occasionally. But even she, with her years of experience and Master Legilimens status, cannot make heads or tails of Logan and Veronica's mindscapes, let alone make any changes of consequence.

The mind is not a book to be read; it presents as a complex landscape of information.

Some resemble winding trains, each car holding precious memories. Some a map, easily navigated.

Her own mental landscape is a library, each book carefully filed using her personal cataloging system. As an added precaution, she's even switched all the book jackets in case anyone gets too meddlesome, as Dumbledore was wont to do. In her opinion, if a person searching for secrets ends up immobile under the Black Lake, it's their own fault.

Muggles, however, do not possess the ability to manipulate their mindscapes in such a way. Reading them is fairly easy for a proficient Legilimens. But when have Logan and Veronica ever done anything they're supposed to do?

Years of manipulation and trauma have made them both so bloody resistant to the influence of others. So while Hermione can still see their relationship bonds, as well as accurately discern their strong, unspoken emotions; that's the extent of her abilities. The couple have learned to hide information and choose their words carefully, and as a result, they're both natural Occlumens, able to produce a metal layer that throw off a Legilimens. Forcefully.

With a half laugh, Hermione runs her free hand over her face then rests her head on the back of the couch, gripping the brandy like a security blanket as she recalls her personal experience with each.

Logan's mindscape is a wash of aquatic images. Blue and gray, tepid and storming. To plunge in feels almost like drowning. The one and only time Hermione tried to access his mind it had taken her ages to realize that _she was not in fact drowning_ and focus on the task at hand. When she did, the first memory that swam to the surface was of tender skin being seared under a blunt cigar.

Torture. She'd tried to stay, do her job. Tried to watch, learn, understand. But scars marring her smooth skin, letters carved by Bellatrix's knife, began to itch. Hermione's breath had left her like a punch to the gut and she'd begun to shake. You can't smell in mindscapes, and still the scent of burning flesh stayed with her for days. She'd never tried again.

Hermione leans forward and places her glass on the table with a _thunk_. She'll need a clear head to work this through. Veronica's mindscape is less aggressive, but it is infinitely more tedious and frustrating.

Logan and Veronica were among her first assignments at The Department. She had been so excited to be recruited, and subsequently so disappointed when she was assigned to the Love Chamber. Like most, she had considered the subject to be trite and, well, _girly_. With her grades and extensive experience in keeping "The Boy Who Lived" alive, surely her talents were better suited to studying Thought or Death. But she'd soon consoled herself that every job is an opportunity to prove oneself—she had done the work, and done it well.

For weeks she examined couple after couple. Dutifully arriving at their sides, entering their minds, examining cause and effect. Silently moving through their lives, hoping to find some shred of learning she could take back to her superiors: _look what I found, brightest witch of my age_. She thought she understood all there was to know, ready to move on to more interesting Chambers.

And then, one day, she had read a file at random and her curiosity had instantly ignited. This couple was included in the Chamber, and yet they were not a romantic couple. Their time together seemed to be marked only by tragedy and death. Perhaps they were misfiled.

Eager to catch an error, she had Disillusioned, poured the pink and blue essences into the device, dipped a finger in, popped up on a dreadfully sunny beach in southern California. And observed as a tall, lean boy took a tire iron to an old beat-up convertible.

Logan was destroying Veronica's property _and she_ _kept baiting him._

Hermione watched, so utterly absorbed in the scene before her that she forgot to do her job.

Logan edged into Veronica's personal space and she invited him, welcomed it.

Dark and complicated emotions rose between the two. Rage...betrayal...something heavier…hate? Lust? Love? At that precise moment, Hermione could not be sure.

If Logan unwrapped his hands from the tire iron to reach for Veronica, would those hands bruise or embrace? Would Veronica pull him in or push him away? Either way, surely they would both go up in flames.

Then the gang member had punched Logan in the face, and everything changed. Veronica's core emotions spiked dangerously and Hermione snapped to attention, remembering her purpose.

By rote, Hermione stepped in front of Eli Navarro, and raised her wand to Veronica, allowing a small flick of light to flare. Muggles assume it's a floater, a trick of the light, and glance. Which gave Hermione one second, just one, to catch their eye and dive in. For a Master Legilimens such as herself, a second is all she needs.

Never before had Hermione seen a Muggle so well suited for Godric's house, and she was eager to catalogue and interpret. She had waltzed into Veronica's mindscape, but instead of memories, Hermione was met by an endless hallway of beige doors. Exactly the same, with no delineation. Almost like a hotel, but without even room numbers to distinguish them.

Turning the first knob, Hermione had found a memory of Lianne Mars teaching a young Veronica the recipe for biscuits. No Logan. The next door revealed the bloodied body of a beautiful blonde, prone by the pool, her unseeing eyes looking into the distance. The next, an empty room with Newton's Second Law written on the wall.

No less than twenty doors later, not only could Hermione not find any thoughts pertaining to the current situation, but no memories of Logan. At all. Which meant that Veronica was subconsciously working very hard to hide them.

From that day on, it was always the same. Hermione had never seen anything of note in Veronica's mind. With one exception. The night of Cassidy Casablancas' suicide.

_It's too early for this walk down memory lane._ Shaking off the introspection, Hermione gets up from the couch and readies herself for bed. It's the middle of the afternoon, but without a proper Pepper Up Potion, the jet lag and, she supposes, the Time Turner lag, is getting to her.

She finds the hotel-provided amenities in the bathroom and makes a note to locate the magical area of Neptune as she prepares for sleep. Who knows what supplies she'll need. A Calming Draught at the very least, to be certain.

Focusing on her ablutions, Hermione studiously attempts to keep her thoughts on her tasks. But, of course, it proves impossible. She's in the same building, for Merlin's sake. How could her mind not drift to the night Veronica pointed a gun at the little rapist?

The minute she had spotted it, Hermione had entered Veronica's mind again. Why, she couldn't say. Ron and Harry would likely tease that it was her habit to fall back on proper procedure when nervous, but she likes to think it was her Gryffindor courage that compelled her to ignore her racing heart and step in front of Cassidy to look down the barrel of the gun.

Hermione's hand had trembled as she raised the wand. And when she entered Veronica's mind, for the first time, instead of stepping into a hallway she was plunged into a dim room with a spotlight at the center.

Under that single beam was the open mahogany casket of Keith Mars, and next to it, the black, gaping pit of rage that was Veronica. Thick, inky tendrils of fury crept off her, slithering to the furthest corner of the room, blending into the shadows, rendering the room impossibly darker.

She had seen that sort of darkness before. Veronica was going to pull the trigger.

But then.

" _You're not a killer, Veronica."_

The sound echoed through the room, and on its heels came light. Not bright. Not white. As handsome as he is, Logan is no one-dimensional prince charming.

But it had been enough.

Logan's unshakable faith had woven around Veronica, and the darkness recoiled, snapping inward, solidifying in her center, leaving her edges frayed, but clear. And she lowered the gun.

Such is the power of Love, and why Hermione finds it endlessly fascinating. Why she finds _this couple_ fascinating. Because in that moment, Logan was wrong.

Veronica very much could have become a killer.

With a newfound appreciation for her position, Hermione had gone home and written pages upon pages of data, and perhaps she's been favoring the couple, just a little, ever since.

She personally cheered their successes, lamented their stubbornness, threw herself a celebration when they finally got their heads out of their arses and reunited for good.

Even after they had settled, Logan and Veronica were endlessly fascinating. Without their mindscapes to fall back on, deciphering their sarcasm and quips was an exhilarating challenge. And for a couple who does not like people, their effect on others is vast. It's intriguing work. And pointless work if any moron with a robe can just ruin it.

"Ugh!" Hermione throws her tiny rectangular toothbrush into the sink. Then thinks better of it and fishes it out, placing it neatly in the stand. She's not an animal.

Waving a hand, her murumuru butter and rose face soap flies into the room. She works it into a lather, massaging gently onto her skin for exactly thirty seconds before rinsing. Hermione dries her face on a plush towel and flips off the lights to crawl under the covers in Logan's old room. And stares at the ceiling.

Instead of agreeing to marry Logan, as Hermione's visit to the previous timeline showed, Veronica is going to say no to Logan tonight. The very fact that Logan is proposing suggests that he is still on the right track. Which means Veronica is the one Hermione needs to examine.

Since she is sans Ministry resources, and cannot follow Veronica's essence to the correct location, Hermione will have to place a tracking spell on her (and perhaps her car and purse).

Then every time she pins Veronica down, she'll have to engage in the arduous task of checking all of Veronica's mental doors to find which memories were modified.

* * *

Hermione naps eventually, though fitfully, but she pops out of bed with fresh determination.

Figuring Veronica can't have changed _that_ much, Hermione Disillusions and Apparates to the apartment to wait for Veronica to literally run from Logan's proposal.

The minute the blonde flies down the sidewalk, Hermione follows her to a town meeting, and slips inside, working her way to the front of the room to face the audience. Once she is certain that Veronica is engrossed in the discussion, Hermione sends a flick of light, catches her eye, and enters her mind.

Instead of the empty hall with rows of doors she expects, there are people loitering, murmuring on a loop. Hermione's pulse kicks up and she takes slow, deep breaths. _This is very wrong._ Veronica's thoughts don't just bleed all over the place.

_Just relax. You don't know what has happened yet. Do your job. Observe._

Squaring her shoulders, she moves amongst crowd, catching wisps of whispered conversation.

"...normal. Unlike her," Shea Fennel mutters to her husband.

"Best to keep Noah away from her," Wallace agrees, hugging his daughter close.

Shocked, Hermione passes them and walks further down the hall. _Impossible._ There is no conceivable way that conversation happened. But... it's not an altered memory.

To the person with an altered memory, the recollection might simply seem fuzzy. But for a wizard in the actual mind, changed memories are fairly obvious to spot. If pieces are removed, the scene skips like poorly edited Muggle video tape. If something is added, the additional portion sounds labored and garbled, like speaking underwater.

These memories are crystal clear.

While Cliff gives his shoulder a consoling pat, Keith shakes his head. "...such a disappointment… could have been so much more…" Lianne grabs Keith's hand in both of hers. "It's why I left, Keith. Started a new family."

The simple fact that Lianne does not have a bottle in her hand is proof enough that this particular "memory" is a lie.

Almost afraid of what she'll find next, Hermione keeps up her journey.

"She's so needy," Mac discloses to Weevil. "Istanbul isn't far enough."

Weevil laughs cruelly. "She's a self-righteous bitch. You gotta look out for number one." He thumps his chest with a fist. "I did."

Spotting Logan at the end of the hall, Hermione pushes past the ridiculousness before her.

Logan is lying on a couch, hands folded over his chest, listening in earnest while his therapist sits in a chair beside him.

"She's a mess, Logan," Jane insists, tucking a strand of reddish hair behind her ear and pushing her glasses up with an index finger. "She's broken. You're better than her now."

Logan unclasps his hands and leans forward. His face—full of understanding and agreement—cuts through Hermione's panic.

There is no way, in any timeline, in any lifetime, that Logan agrees he's better than Veronica. None.

_You're the brightest witch of your age, Hermione. Think._

Closing her eyes against the travesty before her, she lays out the books in her mind like a puzzle. She fits the pieces here and there, adjusting, shifting, comparing her memory of their lives to the ones she's witnessed in Veronica's mind.

Her eyes snap open as understanding shoots through her like lightning.

Hermione is viewing remembrances, but Veronica has never met Jane. Certainly Veronica does not know what the woman looks like, wouldn't be aware of her mannerisms. And yet, there is a perfect replica of Logan's therapist before her.

Which means Unspeakable Thomas did not _alter_ Veronica's memories. He simply implanted new ones, without any regard for what already existed.

_She hadn't even considered… who would do such a thing? It's barbaric._

Hermione spins in place, taking in the landscape with fresh eyes.

When Hermione spelled her parents into leaving England before the most recent Wizarding War, she'd had to make them believe they were childless. It took her months to work out the details, giving them a rich history, years of memories to draw from.

She'd changed her first birthday to that of a neighbor's child, the loss of her first tooth to that of a family friend, and the trips to the bookstore were for a favored patient of theirs. On and on until there was a reason for everything. Watertight with no holes.

This is a bloody sieve. False, negative thoughts scattered through what used to be a tightly controlled mindscape. These memories have no catalyst, no proper backstory to latch on to. Work like this causes havoc, and can be damaging to the overall psyche. And Veronica thinks they're real.

She must seem like a pod person to her loved ones. Unfeeling and aggressive, missing that key marshmallow center: Veronica without the Veronica.

Hermione spends several more minutes examining the additions, and as far as she can see, there is no rhyme or reason. The memories seem to have been chosen with the sole purpose of dismantling everything Veronica struggled to gain.

There must be something more going on here than Unspeakable Thomas wanting attention or a new position. To play God like this speaks of something bigger.

Hermione considers her options. Since the memories are shoved in where they don't belong, a simple obliviate might work. A surgical excision of sorts, cutting out the tumor to leave the healthy tissue intact. Luckily, Veronica's mind is compartmentalized enough for that. But that would only work if the memories are truly isolated, otherwise Hermione risks cutting away too much and affecting Veronica's real memories.

Though torture has been known to break a memory charm, she dismisses it. Things aren't quite that bad, yet.

It's possible Hermione could build new memories on top of the false ones. That would take more time and intense observation to accomplish properly, but she's prepared to do it.

Then there's the matter of bombs to consider. According to the newspaper she had swiped at Logan's funeral there was more than just the one car bomb, and the thought of things exploding around her while she attempts to fix this disaster does not appeal.

_Perhaps she should take out the pizza guy first._ Written reports suggest that Penn Epner was in remarkably plain sight the entire time.

These are not decisions to be made rashly. She needs time to apply her mind to the problem. And she officially needs backup.

Hermione exits Veronica's mind. Pulling out her mobile, she slips out of the NUTT meeting, and dials as she strides into the night. Gritting her teeth impatiently through the ringing, she lets out a breath of relief when Harry answers.

"Mione! Are you back yet?"

"No, Harry. I'm still abroad. I need help."

The line goes silent. Looking at the phone, Hermione confirms they're still connected and brings it back to her ear.

"Hello? Harry?"

"Is this Hermione? Hermione _Granger?_ Calling for _help_?"

"Put Ginny on the phone."

"You know she won't go near the mobile," Harry reminds her. "Ever since she read that the radiation affects fertility."

_Oh, honestly_! "That's only in men, Harry."

Honestly, Harry and Ginny are halfway to a Quidditch team already, as it is And also, disgusting. As far as she's concerned, the stork dropped off Harry's babies.

"Hey, you're the one sending her pamphlets on Muggle healthcare."

Distracted, Hermione stops to stamp her foot. "Because wizards don't believe in preventive care! Can you imagine how many resources it would save if—"

"Hermione." The familiar long suffering tone gets her back on track.

"Sorry." _Priorities_. She continues walking, eyes peeled for a discreet apparition point. "As I said, I need help. Can you—"

"Do you need us to come?"

"—send Crookshanks?"

Harry huffs. "Crookshanks?"

"Yes, Crooks is exactly the kind of help I need right now."

And once they repair the damage, she's going to eviscerate Unspeakable Thomas, that loathsome little cockroach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to my pinch beta Irma66! This one is for you!
> 
> Thanks to Cubbie and Bondo for your mad beta skills as well <3


	3. Curiouser and Curiouser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time on An Unspeakable Love:  
> Unspeakable Thomas did not alter Veronica's memories. He simply implanted new ones, without any regard for what already existed. False, negative thoughts scattered through what used to be a tightly controlled mindscape. These memories have no catalyst, no proper backstory to latch on to. Work like this causes havoc, and can be damaging to the overall psyche. Veronica must seem like a pod person to her loved ones.

A bus, a stadium, a motel, and Merlin knows what else; the denizens of Neptune are so limited in their thinking that Hermione almost takes care of the bombs on principle. However, she has first hand knowledge of what happens when someone who should die does not. So while there are probably no Dark Lords in the making here in Neptune, she decides to leave the bomb, instead focusing on repairing Veronica's memories.

First and foremost, she needs supplies. She does not have the time or the inclination to brew, particularly the more complex potions like Polyjuice.

Unfamiliar with the wizarding area of Neptune, Hermione sends Luna a patronus at a time she knows her friend will be alone. Luna's work as a Magizoologist has taken her all over the globe, and she'd be the most likely to know where Hermione should begin. Plus, if she asked Harry and Ron to investigate they'd probably alert the Daily Prophet. Those boys wouldn't know subtly if she bashed them over the head with it.

Which is how, while Veronica plants cameras with Keith Mars in a Chinese supermarket, Hermione finds herself standing on the boardwalk staring longingly at Zip's Ice Cream shop. The shop is outfitted in the typical manner of a classic ice cream shoppe, respectably appointed with a blue and white striped awning and elegant signage.

So, of course, the magical entry to Wizarding Neptune is across the way, in the ice cream shop that looks like the Weasley twins took a turn at decorating. The sign proclaims Amy's Ice Cream in a kooky font and Hermione's surprised the cartoon cow family atop the roof isn't animated. The entire structure is aqua with neon trim, all bright colors and wild decorations that seem to shout 'look at me; nothing to see here'.

In her experience, while the Americans lack the British fondness for Victorian frippery, they make up for it in their ostentatious architecture. With a sigh, she enters the shop. As instructed by Luna, she walks with purpose, striding through the store, confidence evident in every step of her new combat boots. In her opinion the shoes are incongruous with her tasteful khaki shorts, but at least she's not dressed like a street walker anymore. Luna recommended she go as herself, so against her better judgement she is sans polyjuice for this outing.

Ignoring the scant patrons, she moves around the counter and goes directly through the entrance to the employee backroom. Passing the vending machines and bright blue plastic tables and chairs, she walks straight through the magenta wall at the back of the room and emerges in a forest filled with heart-stoppingly large sequoia trees.

Her breath catches as the feeling of being small—almost insignificant—in the grand scheme of the world. It's a different kind of magic. She's not sure she likes it.

She turns her attention to the winding dirt path in front of her and follows its meandering curves, stopping before an enormous tree with a knight bus-sized tunnel carved into its center.

Looking up, she confirms that the wooden sign with ornate gold letters spells out Orenda Woods. Just under that, in small script, is the inscription: _The ground on which we stand is sacred ground. It is the magic of our ancestors. To gain one must give, for in giving we receive._

Shrugging, Hermione transfigures her clothing into blue silk robes reminiscent of the Beauxbatons uniform and crosses through the large opening.

Hermione halts immediately when she reaches the other side to stare down. She wiggles her toes as if that will force her brain to make sense of her sudden lack of footwear. Why Luna would tell her to wear boots if they were just going to disappear is beyond comprehension, but she has long stopped expending mental energy on her friend's quirks. Besides, Luna would most likely consider a lack of footwear an insignificant detail.

She takes a hesitant step forward, and is pleased to find that, despite the visual evidence of pebbles and leaves, the ground's texture is reminiscent of a plush carpet. Further down the road, a bustling village comes into view. Rather than traditional buildings, storefronts are carved into the massive trunks lining a dirt path. The very second her feet touch the start of that path, comprehension hits.

The magic is in the ground.

It shimmers up from below into the air, a golden glow that lights the entire village. The magic is in _her_ , flowing through her body, and with it comes the innate confidence that any spell she tries would be more powerful than any other before it. Her fingers itch to cast, but she is here for more important things.

Hermione manages to stay on task even when faced with the library. It takes herculean effort, especially considering that it is housed in a hollowed out sequoia, it's lattice windows ensconced in what look to be natural tears in the bark facade. Within she can just make out hundreds...thousands...millions of books...

She catches herself straying and course-corrects to the Rose Apothecary, as instructed by Luna. A twisting green vine frames the door, winding around carved roses that manage to be as thin as tissue paper and, when Hermione brushes one on her way through the door, as sturdy as the wood they're sculpted from.

Crossing the threshold, Hermione is amused to find it's bigger on the inside. One of the benefits of magic, the efficient use of space. The apothecary is wider than a quidditch field, with scores of oddly shaped bottles displayed in that deliberately haphazard way that is both attractive and organized.

Appreciating the convenience, Hermione shakes out a cloth basket from a stack near the front door and immediately heads for the Dreamless Sleep and Pepper Up potions. She adds a Draught of Peace as well. It's mildly addictive, and probably unwise, but desperate times and all that. Every new turn brings her to entirely new levels of agitation and she must do something.

Securing the basket strap to her wrist, she continues her shopping and is relieved to see that American wizards are progressive enough to sell Polyjuice over the counter. She'll have to check it, of course. It is not prudent to be too trusting, but if it's half as good as her own brew, it will do.

Reaching for a bottle on the display, she raps against an invisible shield.

Frowning, she scans the table for a sign. 'Please see the manager,' or 'say this charm,' anything other than standing around like an idiot would do.

"Hermione Granger."

At the sound of her name, in a British accent, her hands flex out—ready to slap or wave—and she whirls around. Recognition hits and she falls back a step, bumping into the table behind her.

Hoping he didn't notice, she straightens up quickly and narrows her eyes suspiciously. Auburn hair, pleasing face, intelligent eyes: "Terry Boot."

"Good to see you!" He beams back at her and she lets her guard down slightly.

_Do they hug?_

They barely know each other, him being a Ravenclaw and all, but they studied together. He supported Harry, even when other students were skeptical of Harry teaching Dumbledore's Army. After the Death Eaters took over Hogwarts in their seventh year she'd heard from Ginny that Terry opposed the Carrows at every turn; often to his own detriment. And they fought in the final battle together. Lost the innocence of childhood together. Lost that purity that comes from only seeing the dead in caskets or memories.

Terry envelopes her in a friendly embrace and after a moment she returns it with sincerity. _They hug._

Pulling back, he gestures towards the back room. Grateful for a familiar face, and the chance to talk to an actual person, she nods and follows his lead.

Behind a shimmering blue curtain is a small circular space. Glancing around at the trappings with internal mirth, Hermione settles into a deep bronze leather couch, places her basket on the floor next to her, and tries to hide her toes in the pile of a midnight blue rug.

"The shoes threw me as well." Terry pulls up the bottom of his robe to show a pair of trousers that look to have extended spats attached, shielding the top of his foot, but leaving the soles bare.

_Fascinating._

He clears his throat.

Caught staring, she grins back up at him as he sits, and she changes the subject from feet. "How long have you been in America?"

"I'm still in Britain, have a shop in Diagon and two in the states. I have an international license to apparate back and forth, but I live in Ottery St Catchpole now, right near—"

"Luna."

"Just a few kilometers down the road," he confirms and flicks his wand, causing a tea cart to roll to their side. "Care for a cuppa?"

"Shall I pour?" Her tone must have been a shade too eager, because Terry laughs.

"Dying to try the magic, are you? Have at it. But, a tip? Wandless fell out of fashion years ago here. The wizards in America much prefer wands, because—"

She waves her hand. What the wizards in America prefer doesn't concern her. She's here for the muggles. And one wizard in particular, who will surely suffer before she's through.

The teapot over-pours and tea spills down the sides of the cart and onto the lovely carpet. She immediately corrects it, careful to keep her hand movements to a minimum and concentrate less on the request of her magic.

Once it's all sorted, she settles back on the sofa and casually crosses one leg over the other. Her bare foot comes into view and she pops her foot back down and crosses her ankles instead.

"—because, it helps to damn the strength of the spell." Terry finishes dryly. "You get used to it," he adds, not unkindly.

She gives him a sheepish look and takes a sip of her tea. "What a nice surprise, running into you here."

"Didn't Luna tell you I'd be here?"

"No, she said—"

' _Boot will help you navigate the village. Start at Rose Apothecary.'_

"Actually, yes. Yes, she did." She laughs a little and shakes her head at his furrowed brow. "Never mind. What do I need to 'navigate' this place?"

"Be right back."

Content to enjoy her tea while he rummages around the room, Hermione examines the intricate embellishments on her cup. A delicate gold line connects sets of stars, forming a constellation, then fades away to trace the next. It matches the night sky in Neptune for this date exactly.

"Does it mirror the sky wherever the tea service resides?" Looking up, she finds him staring at her. "What?" She doesn't know what he's thinking, but the scrutiny makes her blush. Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, she casts a silent (very low level) sticking charm to keep it there.

He smiles a little and diverts her attention by handing her a map. "This is what you'll need."

"Lovely." But a bit useless. The village isn't big enough for her to get lost and she can see the signs above the shops well enough. She moves to pocket it, but he stops her.

"Tell the map what you want, Hermione."

Curious, she vanishes her tea cup and holds the map with both hands, giving it her full attention. "I would like Polyjuice...please."

_Doesn't hurt to be polite, even if you can't see its brain. Maybe especially if you can't._

Everything on the map fades except the apothecary. The map zooms in and a floor plan of the shop comes into view with the Polyjuice display highlighted as well as two tiny, ink-black figures on a couch in the backroom. The male figure hands a bottle to the female figure holding the map.

Looking up at Terry, she's delighted to find him holding a bottle of Polyjuice out to her.

"Oh, this is wonderful!" She takes the potion from him.

"From my personal stores."

They attended NEWT level potions together. She knows his skill, so she decides to trust it with minimal testing.

"Now," Terry leans forward, eyes dancing. "Ask it for a book...on any subject."

" _Any_ subject?" She teases, willing to play. There are so many subjects, after all, including ones that are not likely to be found in the magical world.

He nods in the affirmative and she asks the map, "I would like a book on… the history of baseball!" Then smirks. A muggle topic if she's ever heard it.

The map goes blank. Then, to her utter shock, ink starts to sketch out the town of Neptune, highlighting the public library, the library at Hearst College, and the library at Neptune High.

When she manages to tear her eyes away, Terry is smirking right back at her.

"Spelled that myself. If you tap any of the libraries, it will give you written directions."

"It's impressive, truly."

He preens under her praise as he plops a moleskin pouch in front her. "You will also need this."

Peeking inside at the sack of gold, she's already shaking her head no when he places a hand over hers.

"Hermione, you need the proper currency, and I'm not sure what you're doing here, but you don't want to draw attention to yourself by alerting the goblins, do you?"

She _had_ dreaded going to the bank. The goblins note everything and a written record of her presence here is not ideal.

"At least let me exchange it for the coin I brought with me."

He turns her hand palm up, exposing the scar on her forearm, and while he doesn't touch it, his eyes tracing the letters feels like a caress. She says nothing. The entire wizarding world knows of the word Mudblood carved into her arm. The one that no spell could erase and she refuses to glamour.

"You owe me nothing, Hermione. You saved our lives. _My lif_ e."

"Harry…"

Terry laughs roughly at her protest.

" _You_ started Dumbledore's Army." His eyes bore into hers. " _You_ made certain we could defend ourselves. Harry sacrificed himself for us all, and I will be forever grateful for his courage. But you…."

He drops her hand and digs in his pocket. "You took away our powerlessness. You gave us hope."

He places a coin in her still open palm and when she recognizes it, she closes her fingers around it and blinks back tears. She hadn't been expecting this, not here. Not from someone she only vaguely remembers, in a place she's never been before.

What looks to be spare change is actually the sophisticated communication device she invented to alert the D.A. as to safe meeting times. The galleon that the D.A., including Terry, continued to use for meetings, even after she and the boys had gone on the run. She still has hers in her pocket. She's just realized they probably all do. Perhaps they always will, ready to answer a call to arms at a moment's notice. Invisible scars are the hardest to heal, after all.

"Plus, both those boys would be dead without you, the brains of the Golden Trio." He dimples at her.

Rallying, she swallows back the lump in her throat, replying easily, "Merlin, did people really call us that? The Golden Trio? Were we that obnoxious?"

The dimples do not waiver when he answers. "You do realize any other student who violated the statute of secrecy and flew a car to Hogwarts would have gotten at _least_ expelled?"

Her expression turns serious. "The very worst of fates." Then she huffs out a laugh. "To be fair, I took no part in that."

"See what happens without the brains of the operation?"

Sobering a bit, she says softly, "Terry, we were children. _Children."_ Her voice firms. "Adolescents made to fight grown wizards. Kept deliberately blind, parrying assassination attempts with riddles and school-age spells. Shut out without the pertinent information, then expected to perform on par with the so-called adults in the room."

By the end of her speech, the words are harsh and she has to consciously calm herself. Children, made to operate in an adult world for adult stakes. Is it any wonder she has such an affinity for Logan and Veronica?

"We all simply did the best we could." She passes his galleon back.

"Well, your best, Ms. Granger, has a tendency to be exceptional." Sliding the coin into his pocket, he stands and holds out a formal elbow to her. "Come, anything you need from the apothecary is my gift to you, and then I will walk with you to the Magical Menagerie. I hear they have a new guest who has been terrorizing the customs."

_Crookshanks!_

"Oh, yes, please!" She jumps up to take his arm, scooping up her basket on the way.

By tacit agreement they put childish things like war and death aside, and spend the rest of the morning catching up. Terry leaves her at the door to the menagerie with his mobile number and extracts a promise from her to meet him again, in either country.

If the largeness of the trees had made her feel inconsequential, then Terry's confidence in her reminds her that she is not. That her belief that only she can see the bigger picture, that she must right the wrongs committed in Neptune, is a concept born of experience as opposed to arrogance. The very fact that Terry offers his aid, and never once asks about her mission, further solidifies her resolve.

By the time Hermione arrives back at The Grand she is laden with packages, books (she caved), and a very pissed-off cat. Crooks immediately hops out of her arms and then stalks off to places unknown. Whatever method of transportation the manageries used were clearly not to his liking.

"I still feed you, you know!" She calls out to him, and his meow back sounds suspiciously like a scoff.

Tossing her purchases onto the couch, she pulls out her wonderful map with gratitude. In her haste at the NUTT meeting she'd forgotten to place any kind of trace on Veronica.

Unfolding the paper before her, she requests, "Show me Veronica Mars, please."

The map shifts, shimmers, and draws—really, and truly impressive—and a tiny seated figure travels through the streets of Neptune. The speed and position suggest a car, but that doesn't concern her. Based on the trajectory, she can tell Veronica is on her way to Wallace's house. Hermione can apparate there easily. It's Veronica's coloring that causes her the most concern. She's gray, almost ghostly.

_Maybe it's a muggle thing._

"Please show me Logan Echolls."

From the looks of it, Logan is just arriving at Wallace's house. His black color is as solid as Hermione's and Terry's were before.

_Curiouser and curiouser._ Hermione has never quite lost the thrill of going down the rabbit hole.

She closes the map with a snap, dissillutions, calls out a goodbye to her pouty companion, and apparates to the 90909.

Hermione arrives just in time to finagle her way in behind a distracted Veronica. She admits to herself that she is excited to chronicle the upcoming interactions. It should give her an idea of how much Veronica has changed. Wallace was family, more so than Lianne Mars, even. There should be a strong bond there.

She quietly steps through the house, but stumbles at the sight of Logan playing with baby Noah. Luckily no one hears her over their laughter. No one else registers Veronica's mutter of 'hell no', either.

Hardened workaholic that she is, even Hermione is ready to squee at the sight, so the look of genuine disgust on Veronica's face throws her. Fear she expected. Worry. Anxiety. But disgust?

True to form, Logan and Wallace tease Auntie Veronica about doting on Noah, and her reply that she only bought the baby 'one ironic tracksuit' has everyone throwing confused glances.

Hermione studies Veronica closely. The woman is utterly serious. From what Hermione remembers, Veronica was prone to favoring the youngest Fennel with a variety of gifts, but perhaps that's changed.

Shae swoops in to bring Noah up for bedtime and Hermione follows the two. While Shae bathes the baby, Hermione looks through the nursery's closet. There she finds the pint size biker jacket she remembers Veronica buying just before Logan's latest deployment. Searching the room further, she also finds the baby puka shell necklace that Veronica thought was hilarious and Logan did not. There are several "Fight Like a Girl" and "Don't Make Me Call My Auntie" type onesie's that Hermione knows must have come from Veronica as well. Atop the bookcase is a tiny bear with a shirt reading 'I Wuv U Beary Much' that Hermione is sure Veronica got a kick out of.

If the clothes and toys are here despite the fact that Veronica doesn't believe she's bought Noah anything, then that means she doesn't remember.

_She needs to access Veronica's mind again._

Noah and Shae enter the room and Hermione presses herself to the wall next to the closet and waits for her opportunity to sneak back to the dining room. Shae closes the door against the music floating up the stairs and Hermione prepares for a long wait as Shae walks Noah up and down the length of the room singing softly.

Hermione lets Shae's pretty voice soothe her, resisting the urge to hum along. _Lavender's green dilly dilly, Lavender's blue…_

Little Noah rests her head on her mother's shoulder and is nodding off when suddenly her head pops up and she stares; right at Hermione.

Hermione snaps to attention. Looking down at herself, she confirms that her disillusionment has not faded.

Glancing up, she sees Noah is still staring at her. Checking, Hermione turns to make sure there's nothing behind her catching the child's interest. _A blank wall._

When she turns back, she gives a testing wave of her hand. Noah waves back.

Feeling light headed, Hermione sinks quietly to the floor as Noah starts babbling. Shae jiggles her in the rocking chair, continuing to sing as she glides back and forth, the gentle creak of the chair accompanying the song. Noah quiets, but peeks at Hermione around the back of the chair.

Hermione waves again and when Noah opens her mouth, Hermione puts an index finger to her lips, adds a playful wink. _Just a game, nothing to worry about._

Noah scrunches up her entire face and screws her eyes shut and opens them. Taking the toddler version of a wink as agreement, Hermione presses the sudden nagging ache at the back of her skull against the wall.

_The Fennels have a witch in the family. What is she supposed to do with this information?_

The answer is, of course, nothing. She should do nothing. There is a Muggle-born witch or wizard in about one out of every 10,000 Muggle births. It's not so out of the ordinary. The Ilverorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has their own notification system for alerting muggle-borns, and Headmaster Fontaine runs a well ordered school. But… Hermione's own experience before McGonagle arrived at her door was not good.

The creaking stops, and Hermione watches as Shae performs a backbend sort of crab walk, managing to get Noah from the chair to the toddler bed without changing the angle of the child or jarring her. _Impressive._ She presses a kiss to Noah's head and quietly exits the room.

Hermione's own parents were just as caring, just as kind. It wasn't their fault that Hermione was different from the rest. That she had spent eleven years mired in insecurity and uncertainty, with no friends or answers. Years of floating books to herself and avoiding churches for fear of lightning. She wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Gently, she rises. Pausing on her way out of the door, she walks back to the bookcase and silently transfigures a stuffed unicorn into a tiny Gryffindor lion with a scarlet and yellow scarf.

She never has been good at letting things alone.

She makes it downstairs just as Logan suggests Cards Against Humanity to Veronica's obvious dismay. Hermione is sick unto death of these inconsistencies, of watching Veronica-a woman who fought and scraped to create a life she could be content in-acting like a pod person.

Anger mounting, Hermione dives into Veronica's mind prepared to gleefully wipe each and every false memory.

When she arrives in Veronica's mindscape, everything is almost as expected. Instead of its customarily empty appearance, the motel-like hallway with endless doors is crowded with uninvited guests—implanted memories—while true memories are hidden behind unmarked doors (in accordance with Veronica's natural defense system). But this time there are less people than Hermione remembers.

Keith, Lianne, and Cliff have disappeared.

_Could the matter be resolving itself?_ It's a happy thought, but unlikely.

Even if that were the case, Logan and Jane are still there, complaining negatively about Veronica; as are Mac and Weevil in their own section of the hall. Wallace and Shae are holding baby Noah as they wander down the hall discussing Veronica's lack of normalcy.

With disgust, Hermione focuses on the false memory of Logan commiserating with Jane about Veronica and braces to perform a focused Obliviate to carve it out, when a sudden movement draws her attention. Turning, she spots the Fennel family opening a door.

Hermione's heart sinks, then slams back into her throat, racing as he closes the door behind him. Too panicked to form an actual thought, Hermione follows on shaky legs.

Once in the room, she sees Wallace and Shae sitting on their living room sofa while Noah plays with a set of blocks at their feet.

Veronica comes upon their conversation from the direction of the bathroom, hovering in the doorway.

"...normal. Unlike her," Shea mutters to Wallace.

"Best to keep Noah away from her," Wallace agrees, picking Noah up and holding her close.

Veronica's jaw tightens and the memory fades, then starts again.

Hermione's head buzzes with the new information: The memories are not disappearing, they're taking up residence, becoming ingrained.

_Ingrained._

Certainly Veronica thought the memories were real before, but they would have been nagging thoughts she could brush off. Her behavior was inconsistent but excusable. But this. This means permanent. Forever. Hurtful memories that change Veronica's overall opinion of her loved ones.

_How long?_ How long before all the implanted memories take root and Veronica goes from pod person to complete and utter asshole?

Logan only just returned from deployment. Veronica already said no to his proposal. What's next? How far could Veronica spiral? Hermione thinks back on her first day in Neptune, in the original timeline. The night she decided to step in because she'd caught a glimpse of Veronica with Leo.

_Rock bottom. Veronica could hit rock bottom._

Whisking out of Veronica's brain and the Fennel home, she pops back to The Grand.

Terry was right about one thing. Hermione Granger fights back.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione plops down on the couch and unceremoniously tugs off her boots. "Stop pouting and get over here."

Crooks saunters in, and Hermione gestures towards the couch then pulls at her socks.

The contrary cat yawns and stretches leisurely, tilting his head as he observers her actions. Then he heaves a feline sigh and deigns to gracefully jump up next to her.

Hermione stops her agitated disrobing to wrap her arms around the cat. The perceptive Kneazle nuzzles her chin and gives her a comforting purr. Leaning away, she cups his chin.

"Crooks. I need you to get to know someone. Her name is Pony." She ruffles his lion-like fur neck. "I suspect you will be great friends."

Crooks bobs his head, and she gives him one last pet, then rises from the couch. Picking up her shoes and socks, she heads to her bedroom.

"I need to take a shower. I feel dirty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter Hermione takes more...direct action. With a little help from Crooks ;)
> 
> Thanks to sooooo many people. My betas on this: Cubbie, Chikabiddy, Bondo, Carla. And to LV4Eva for giving me an alpha read on my Wizarding Neptune section.

**Author's Note:**

> I had SO MUCH help. A veritable alphabet of betas. 
> 
> AmyPC — thank you for your support and seriously amazing SPAG skills  
> Aurora2020 — thank you for your fic enthusiasm and for making things sound more British!  
> Bondopoulos — thank you for whipping this into shape, kicking my butt to clean up the grammar, and all around improving the work. It's been a pleasure getting to know you!  
> CattyK8 — you crossover queen, thank you for telling what needed more explanation AND for your amazing cover art.  
> Chikabiddy — my coven sister, thank you for your endless encouragement, understanding of LoVe, HP knowledge, and beta skills.  
> CubbieGirl1723 — thank you. For the prompt, for your friendship, for encouraging me to start writing own fic in the first place. Happy Friendaversary <3
> 
> If you haven't, please check out the inspiration behind this idea: “[The Ones Where Logan Lives.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116870)” The premise for the collection: Eight authors. Thirty-six fanfics. One fic posted every day, starting in November, all with the same mission: save Logan Echolls.
> 
> Finally, [CattyK8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8) made me this AMAZING cover for this fic:  
> 
> 
> And this gorgeous one is from the amazing Alina:  
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/153394136@N06/49945375927/in/dateposted/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover] An Unspeakable Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21704947) by [cattyk8covers (cattyk8)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8/pseuds/cattyk8covers)
  * [Covers (Marshmellow Bobcat stories)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006234) by [VeronicaMarsFanArt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaMarsFanArt/pseuds/VeronicaMarsFanArt)




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